Shadows of Agua Fria

Intro.

    He stood up from the quilt that lay spread out upon the grass. Leaves drifted in the slight breeze as the song of a bright yellow warbler filled his ears. The noon sun beat heavily upon him. Taking an old kerchief from his pocket, Joe wiped his brow. After replacing the rag, he leaned against the lone Mulberry tree he had been sitting under with his wife. He glanced over at the horses for a moment, watching them graze in the shade before turning his gaze to a nearby hill, a cloud of dust could be seen rising from the opposite side. Joe stepped forward and covered his eyes from the New Mexico sun. Four riders were heading his way. The thunder of their hooves unnerved him; the men upon their backs were whipping their mounts ferociously as they whooped and yelled. Joe recognized them instantly and hung his head in defeat.

    "Who is it?" Maria asked, unable to hide the uncertainty in her voice.

    "Red", he replied, eyes fixed upon the oncoming doom.

    "No," Maria exclaimed as Joe turned to face her.

    Joe looked down at Maria. His face was a mask of determination, but his eyes terrified her. His usual fire had been usurped by defeat. Her heart beat faster as it sank. Joe placed his hands upon her cheeks and looked lovingly at her. Her brown eyes showed in the sun and he stared deeply into them. After a moment, Joe smiled at her.

    "We knew this day was coming," he said, "and you know I cannot run. I thought we would have a little more time."

    Tears began to trickle from her eyes as she reached up and hugged him tight about the neck. Her world was destroyed that night, a couple of weeks earlier. She had begged Joe to let them take the cattle, money, whatever. She cried and pleaded for him to stay inside, but Joe did not listen. He grabbed his weapons and headed out the door to face Fenton Pool and his gang.

    Maria cried and sobbed as she barred the door to the house. She extinguished the lights and sobbed, alone in the darkness. She shook and cried with every shot she heard, imagining each one had found her Joe. Maria shook with fear and despair. Her guts turned to water and her heart pounded in her chest at the thought of losing him.

    She was relieved when it was over and Joe walked back inside safe and unharmed. Relief, though, was short-lived. Joe recounted how they had scattered the bandits after reclaiming the herd. He told her about his confrontation with Pool as the man was separated from the other raiders.

    "Fenton did not like the idea of being taken to Santa Fe and the Marshall," Joe had told her. "He yanked his Walkers and tried to blast his way out."

    "I meant to kill him," he continued, "but, I did not mean to shoot him in the face. Red is not going to be happy about that."

    Maria knew it was over then. Joe would die horribly. It was only a matter of time. Red would ride South from Agua Fria to exact a brutal revenge. This scene replayed in her mind as she looked up at her husband, perhaps for the last time. She returned to the moment as he spoke.

    "Say a prayer for me," he asked of her, trying his best to appear calm even as his hands and knees began to shake.

    "God will keep us," she whispered, her voice weak with fear.

    Joe broke her hug and held her at arm's length, gently looking into her eyes once again. He could hear they were closer now, the four atop their mounts.

    "This is it, Maria." He told her. "If they take me back, they will not take me alive."

    They were upon the lovers then. Four men with faces as dour as death sat on their horses and looked down upon their prey. They had arranged themselves in a crescent shape with Joe at its focus. Red hopped from his mount; his boots kicked up a cloud of dust as he landed. He removed his hat and looked up at the sun.

    "Hot, ain't it?" he said, wiping his brow with the back of his hand.

    Joe did not know if his enemy was truly talking about the weather, or if Red was poking fun at his situation. Joe decided on the latter. Red was not one for idle chit-chat.

    "Yes, It is hot," he said in reply. Joe nearly hissed the words in his hate for Red.

    "You murdered my brother, Joe," he said as he approached. He had taken just a few steps when he noticed Joe was clearing his shirt tails from the grips of his revolver. Red stopped then, his eyes narrowed.

    "You shot him in the face!" Anger and wrath threatened to overtake his judgment and he calmed himself. Red smiled at him as he regained his composure.

    "Your brother was killed stealing cattle!" Joe spat at Red, his voice dripping with spite. "He was a no-good thief, a murdering son of a bitch. Just like you, Red."

    No longer smiling, Red's expression hardened. His jaw and fists were clenched as he tried to control his rage. He glared at Joe, his nostrils flaring with each ragged breath he took. He bowed his head, again. Red knew his men understood what this meant. His riders reached for the repeaters they had attached to their saddles and began preparing the weapons.

    Looking down at the dust under his boots, Red sniffed audibly. His men began raising their rifles. The three aimed their weapons at Joe who gripped the handle of his revolver as Red slowly walked closer. Red leaned in close and whispered in Joe's ear.

    "Hell," he said. "Ain't no crime stealin' from the likes of you."

    Red spit upon the toe of Joe's left boot as he turned back to his mount. Joe screamed and jerked the pistol he had been wearing.

    "You go to hell!" he yelled raising his piece. He had gotten the deadly steel from its holster and was able to squeeze off a few unaimed shots, emptying the revolver as the rifles opened fire. The horses tied under the tree reared up in fear at the sudden cacophony, snapping their tethers. The two ran for a nearby cleary to graze, safely away from the lop-sided battle.

    Gunshots exploded in her ears, and she screamed in anguish. Knowing she was certainly now a widow; Maria was overcome with grief. Greyish-blue smoke filled the air. It smelled acrid as a breeze caught it and blew the smelly haze in her direction, momentarily obscuring her view. She stood for an eternity, looking through the smoke for any sign of what she knew must have happened. Beams of sunlight shined, streaking their way to the ground through the cloud. The smoke swirled in the breeze just as did her emotions. Anger threatened to overtake her despair. Close behind and threatening to pass them both was guilt. Could she have done more to prevent this?

    Maria's vision cleared as the smoke passed, and she saw the horror before her. Joe lay dead on the ground. The pistol was smoking in her lover's once warm hand, a hand that had comforted her on many a cold night. She made a decision then.

    "Forgive me, Father," she said, tears streaming down her face in torrents. With a piteous cry, she made for the weapon.

    Maria knew she had no shot against Red and his riders. Even if the piece weren't empty, she knew she'd not get off a shot before the rifles fired at her.

    "Good," she thought. She quickly ran and picked up the weapon.

    Maria's scream got Red's attention and he watched her running toward Joe. He knew what she meant to do upon hearing her prayer.

    "Shit," he said with a sigh. Frowning, he addressed his men. "Answer her prayers, Boys," he said as the rifles opened fire once more.

    Maria dropped the weapon and fell over atop Joe, dead. The warblers' song could be heard in the now nearly silent peace.  A gust of wind blew a scattering of leaves across the two corpses. They lay motionless, one atop the other, under the shade of the lone Mulberry tree, and there they will stay. Together.

Chapter 1.

    The peaceable town of Agua Fria boiled with hidden tension. Troubles with renegades and bandits had been bad, though it had been some time since the last raids. Like any other boomtown, her streets overflowed with people seeking their fortunes. Gold and silver mines brought more people to the farming community, adding their personal and political schemes to the unstable mix. Navigating her streets even visitors could feel the weight of stress on their shoulders. Agua Fria was a powder keg. With tensions high, the last thing the town needed was a spark.

    Riding into town, a lone stranger upon a horse as black as midnight threatened to shatter this fragile peace.  Upon his hip, he wore a sawed-off Winchester repeating rifle in a custom holster. Spurring on his mount as he rode in from the South, he slowly scanned, noting all he saw. The stranger had a dark presence about him, his cold eyes narrowed to slits by the New Mexico sun. He looked dangerous. The majestic black horse moved with a slow grace; its rider bobbed lightly in the saddle. It was not the graceful animal that held the towns' attention. All eyes were focused on the stranger. It was his weapon that caught every eye, and suspicion drove many to utter the words "Outlaw", or "Killer". People in Agua Fria were caught off guard by this menacing presence and could only stare as he dismounted his horse with a thud and stepped onto the boardwalk. A sense of foreboding had fallen over the town, and its people feared a coming storm.

    Eyes narrowed in distrust as the stranger walked past. Shopkeepers watched him through the windows of their shops. A mother pulled her child to the side, shielding the kid behind her skirts. All eyed him with suspicion. The stranger was used to this treatment. He used cynicism and distrust to his advantage. These were natural human emotions that allowed him to appear menacing. In his line of work, it paid to look dangerous. He knew that for a fact. Knowing so did nothing to remove the sting he felt when things like this happened. With a furrowed brow and a stern look, the newcomer turned to face the woman who spurned him.

"The marshal," he demanded of the woman who could only point in reply.

    He noticed the child's bright eyes shining at him. The little girl craned her neck to look around her mother. Her smile was infectious. The stranger returned her smile and tipped his hat with a wink, leaving the two to their business. He walked in the direction the woman had given him. He was working and had a simple yet dangerous job to do.

    The outsider didn't need the Marshal. He preferred to take care of his business without the possible interference of local law enforcement. The fact that local law would allow such a man as his quarry to walk freely through the streets did not suggest he could trust them. He'd best avoid any legal entanglements he decided. Bounty hunters weren't exactly loved in frontier towns.

    Walking along the boardwalk, he noticed the streets were bustling with people. Some entered shops, others stood at the windows and looked at the goods displayed. Everyone walked with a purpose, quickly, and avoided eye contact. He observed that no one stopped to talk with others. He noticed the only voices he heard came from the many saloons that lined Agua Fria Street. Aside from the more raucous types at the bars, it seemed as if no one was willing to break the peace with even a whisper.